The Price of Nice

I spend a fair amount of my wondering-time, wondering why people aren't nicer to each other. The return for being nice to others must not be that great since so few seem to open up to such an idea. I can't say I understand that avenue of thinking--being nice has always been part of who I am, and it's never been at a steep cost.

I was out for my daily, morning walk with myself, the hurkin' stroller, and the munchkin. Fantastic day for a walk. It was still early so the air was a gentle warm, although you could feel the sun resting its fingers on the temperature gauge slowly heating things up.

Went to the Walgreens up the street as my first stop off. I swear Walgreens is going to take over America. It was late enough in the morning though, where people were out and about running errands, so the store wasn't empty. Had I been walking with my eyes closed though, it might as well been since no one was talking. Like shopping zombies, people combed the isles in silence. I kept to myself until I went to check out. A very nice, old gentleman rang up my things and tried desperately to get my daughter to smile at him.

She must have absorbed the negative, sleepy energy in the store for there was no way she was going to flash her two pearly whites at him. We chatted about diapers and without even a 'have a nice day' he shuffled me onward and began ringing up the customer behind me. Maybe he was sore about my daughter not smiling at him. I've learned that people expect niceness in return if they put forth the effort of being nice themselves.

So maybe people aren't nicer for fear of it not being returned? or maybe because they don't want to invest the energy into someone without a guarantee that that effort will be acknowledged and rewarded?

So I go on my way to Trader Joes.

As I enter the store, pushing the stroller with one hand and holding the carry basket in the other, a little girl comes rushing up to the stroller and nearly crawls into it with my daughter. I remind her to be gentle and she smiles at me and gently touches my daughter's cheek. My daughter, at first a little nervous, raises her hand to hold the little girl's hand. The girl's mother comes rushing over frantic--"Don't do that!! You can't touch people!! You need to ask the mommy first!!" I smile and assure the woman that her daughter was being very nice and gentle and that really it was fine. The woman hurries her daughter and they go on about their shopping.

Odd to me though. You'd think you'd want your child to be outgoing and friendly--no harm in showing that toward a baby. And her daughter was polite. Strange.

As I gather the few things I needed, and some things I didn't, a woman skirting her cart around the store kept huffing and puffing as I apparently was in her busy-body way. She must have said 'EXCUSE ME!' half a dozen times to me and then, when she was finished being rung up ahead of me in line, she dropped her berry pie and it crumbled to bits. But it didn't bother me when she went back to exchange it for one that wasn't wrecked. Upon her return, she smiled at me sheepishly and in a far different tone said, "excuse me..."

Again, this cashier tried his hardest to get my daughter to smile, but to no avail, she refused.

With frozen goods in the stroller now, I needed to be somewhat swift about my return home. A couple blocks from home and a block away from the coffee shop, my husband drives by...gives me the good ol' sissy 'beep beep' of our Trooper horn (Trust me, if you're looking for an SUV with a rough manly horn--don't invest in a Trooper!) and a circular wave of his hand which means, 'turn the stroller around-we're getting coffee!'

We go in to get some coffee and the woman behind me begins her plan of attack in getting my daughter to smile. This time, with success! My daughter does love the coffee shop, so it didn't surprise me that she finally gave in. It also could have been the Farley's Rusk she had been nibbling on and covered herself in that gave her the energy to exude such a sweet expression.

The baristas, who know my daughter fairly well, gave their normal routine toward her which she adores. She watched her daddy get his coffee and then dress it as he normally does. And then the next man in line, in his 30s I'd presume, decides he's going to be part of the baby chatter. He looks at my daughter and, he too, tries to get her to smile. She stops frozen, holding biscuit in hand held high, and glares at him. No smiles. Eyes wide. And then she goes back to eating her biscuit. The man turns, and says in a serious manner, "She should enjoy this! It's the nicest people will be to her in her life!"

What a sad thought that is--at six months old, my daughter is getting the best of what mankind has to offer, according to this man.

I sure hope he's wrong.

As we left, the woman that my daughter smiled at was walking behind us.

"I know it looks like I'm following you! I'm not really! I swear!"

I reply, "Uh huh...you just want her biscuit!", with a smile.

I'd like to believe that there are people who will always be willing to outstretch their arm with a welcoming hand and open their heart for the 'niceness' that can exist between people no matter what age you are.

The price of nice hasn't been unaffordable to me, has it for you?

The Tale of Falling (Fallen) Rock

Once long ago, there was a princess. She lived among nature and believed in all of the goodness it brought to the world. Like many of her friends, she was betrothed to a man she did not love. You see, she had fallen madly in love with a boy in her tribe that certainly would not match up to her father's expectations of the type of man his daughter should marry.

The boy went to the princess' father and explained his true love for his daughter and how she returned the love in full. The father insisted that such a love would never be allowed and that his daughter would be married to the man he chose.

Heartbroken, the boy disappeared from the tribe. He was too saddened to remain and watch the life of his true love be carried out with another.

When the princess heard of such news, she raged her anger at her father and swore she would not fulfill his orders of marriage to a man she did not love. She wept and wept, for she too had a heart full of despair and ache.

The next morning when she awoke, her father agreed to let her marry the boy she had so solemnly swore herself to. That is, if she could find him. So the princess left the tribe in search of the boy.

She still has not found him to this day. Those that say they've heard of a traveling boy or have caught a glimpse of him amongst the trees and bushes, put up a sign in the area to help the princess. So should she travel by, she can see the sign and know her true love has been spotted.

It's important to always be looking quietly when you see one of the signs posted, for the boy, Falling Rock, gets scared off easily and doesn't trust strangers. But should you spot him, you may be able to finally reunite the princess with her true love.



I can't tell you ~how~ many countless hours I'd sit in the car on road trips looking for Falling Rock (Fallen Rock).

[This is the story my parents told me on car trips so I'd shut my trap and stop my endless yammerings. Needless to say, I fell for every bit of it and they got some silence to relish.]

One Thing to Say

Headaches are a real @#$%^!

And that's about all I can say.

/stumbles for the bottle of Tylenol.

Gummy Bear Aware

So Walgreens has Black Forest Gummy Bears on sale for 2.50 for a bucket of them. Not only do Black Forest Gummies have the best flavor, but they are also the only bears that I know of that are made with the little fur marks on the candy. Not to forget, stretchability is really important. Don't try to deny that you torture your gummy bear before you eat it.

So I'm thinking and wondering, as I look at this bucket of glorious chewable yum, how do other people eat their gummy bears?

Do they pluck them one at a time from the bucket?

Eat all of one color from the bucket before moving on to the next color?

Mix colors?

Leave a particular color until the end because you hate it and you're going to toss them? because you love it and you want to savour them?

Ever confuse the cream colored ones with the yellow ones when you are nibbling them in a dark or dim room?

Do you stretch them first? bite their heads off first? nibble the limbs off one by one? What's your gummy torture method? or do you just plop them into your mouth whole?

When someone else asks you for one, do you ask them what color they want?

Do you give them the color you hate or the color you love, if they say they don't care?

Do you wait to see if they are going to eat it any particular way?

Do you always chew them on one side of your mouth?

I wonder.

Say It Isn't So!!!

An excerpt from the Chicago Tribune:

"Authorities said Wednesday they are unsure if criminal charges will be filed against the Dave Matthews Band and one of its tour bus drivers for allegedly dumping foul-smelling waste into the Chicago River and showering a tour boat filled with passengers in the process."

For full article: Authorities unsure if criminal charges will be filed

DMB is one of my all time favorite bands. I can't believe they would do such a thing! And what timing!! Those poor tourists on the river!!

...."According to the lawsuit, on Aug. 8, a bus leased by the band crossed the grated Kinzie Street bridge near the downtown business district and the driver allegedly emptied the contents of the bus' septic tank into the river below.

At that moment, more than 100 people on the Chicago's Little Lady architecture tour passed underneath the bridge and were showered with the human waste."...

Nasty, Dave, nasty! I'm just so shocked!

...~What would you say~, Dave?

And You Just Keep On Plunging Forward

Sometimes being able to turn back the hands of time sure would be nice. Not forever, just for a little bit...to try to look at a situation differently, or take in a moment and appreciate it because maybe you look back on it and know you slighted it a bit more than you should have. Sometimes simply for the fact that you feel overwhelmed in what's going on now and it would feel good to go back for a brief moment to something happy and familiar...

About the most we can do though is reflect. Move forward and make the most of what's to come.

A story my grandmother told me always helps me realize this:

My grandfather and her were having an important dinner party. All the 'big' people were attending. My grandmother had spent a good portion of the day prepping meals for the event and cleaning house etc. You know, all the typical items that are on a hosting agenda.

As the guests arrived it was my mother and her brother's job to stay out of sight--'Kids don't belong at adult parties.' and to make sure the dog didn't finagle his way into sight either.

My grandmother had taken this golden, beautifully cooked, honey ham out of the oven. She truly was a fantastic cook, and I have no doubt in my mind that this ham had made the house smell heavenly.

Kids being kids, my mom had found herself busy with her own play schedule and her brother too I'm sure. The dog also found himself preoccupied and kept well out of the way of the guests.

While my grandparents were attending to welcoming arriving guests, the dog was welcoming himself to the beautiful ham cooling on the table. Considering it was a dinner party for 15 people or the likes...it was a big ham.

My grandmother returned to the kitchen to check on her dishes, to find the dog up on the table with one paw straddling each end of the ham, and his face devouring the middle with a look of pure doggy ecstacy on his face enjoying each sugary sweet lap of his tongue across it as he nibbled more and more.

Needless to say, I'm quite sure my grandmother, while not a violent woman, beat that dog senseless. She stuck her head out of the kitchen and ever so sweetly smiled at my grandfather beckoning his company...told him to stall the guests with whatever banter he could while she tried to remedy this problem.

So instead of delivering a gorgeous ham to be cut on the buffet in front of all the guests...she rinsed the ham off, sliced up what was left of it, and served it on a platter. She then put her best smile on, presented it to the table with the rest of her dishes, and no one was any the wiser.

That must have been a good chuckle knowing inside that all the hoity-toity biggies from work were happily eating ham ala dog slobber.

So when things look dismal...and not panning out how you had planned for them to...you do what you gotta do and just move on since time is a forever forward sort of thing.

Everyone has that ~one~ thing...

I got to thinking tonight and realized...Everyone has that ~one~ thing they really really REALLY wanted as a child and they never got. And no matter how old you get, you always think back and say to yourself, "I wish I would have had a [insert thing here]. That would have been so GREAT! I'm still torqued I didn't get it!"...

I wanted a Big Wheel...one of the cool ones with a brake. I wanted to go screaming down my street as fast as my little feet could pedal me and then give the brake handle the hardest yank I could and go sliding a few feet before I came to a stop.

I never got one.

I'm still bummed about that. Phooey.

Although, at my age now, I'd look pretty damn funny attempting to ride one down my street...but if I could get it going fast enough, a challenge indeed given the weight of my big arse, I'd yank that brake and hope for that long awaited gleeful slide down the street...but would probably jolt myself right off it into oncoming traffic instead!

You?

Food, Glorious, Food!

As I sat watching my daughter blow spit bubbles tonight (A lovely trick she learned from Manababies' son), I got to thinking about how much she just adored the rice cereal she ate for dinner and a childhood memory came to mind.

We'd been sailing up in the San Juan Islands and anchored off not far from shore. We took the dinghy in to shore that evening to fulfill our plans of watching a stage production of Oliver Twist. By the time we reached land, night had set in and there wasn't much visible light to guide us up the hillside toward the theatre.

I distinctly remember there being lots and lots of plants and branches and very little glimpse or feel of a noticeable path...if there was a path at all. Using matches to guide us up the hillside, one short flame at a time--right down to the last match, and then finishing our way toward the lights of the theatre best we could on our own. We actually might have had a flashlight to start off with, but maybe the batteries died unexpectedly? I just don't recall using it for very long.

When we reached the top of the steep hill, we rested for awhile. Took in the beautiful scenery of a star filled sky with the light of the moon reflectcing off the water in the inlet as the sailboat bobbed in the distance awaiting our return.

It was in these moments that I saw my first shooting star. Standing there in the quiet of night as nature's own firework danced across the sky--that vision is clear in my mind.

People always say, "I knew you when you were just a twinkle in your momma's eye..."

Maybe on that night, so many years ago, that shooting star was my daughter teasing me with her splendid delight well before her time...

...which now she shares with me daily by blowing spit all over the friggen house. ~grin~

Button Pushers

Does anyone ever really only push the crosswalk button once?

Does it make a difference if you hit it ten times instead?

Bootie Calls

On my walk today as I passed the retirement home, I wondered...

Do they sneak down the hall to so-n-so's room for a little action when no one is looking?

A Tragic Blessing

I'm not really sure how I feel about what I'm about to write on...

In my many years of teaching children, I've seen a lot of different things -- good and bad. I've seen very loving families, very distant families, very dysfunctional families, and families wrought with heartache and families gushing with good fortune. Life tends to hit each of us differently for different reasons, and I do think for whatever reason, we grow from the lessons that are plopped in our laps--be it growth in a positive or negative direction in life.

Several years ago I taught a little boy who was extremely overweight, poor poor self esteem, lacking tremendously in academic smarts (primarily due to his low self esteem), yet an extremely good baseball player. His younger sister wasn't far off from him, although seemed to fit into the 'norm' of the school a bit better than he did.

The home life of this little boy was rather disturbing from my perspective. The school was quite familiar with the chaos that resided behind their closed doors. The mother tended the children with their schoolwork primarily--aiding in homework and conferences and after school activities. The father's main focus seemed to be in picking the children up from school and yelling out belligerent comments out the car window about how the school provided lousy education for his child and how our demands to educate his son (never gave the daughter much thought) were misguided because said son was going to be a pro baseball player and that's all there was to it--who needs education when there's pro baseball?

I hit a milestone with the boy that year. It had been two years since the children has first learned cursive writing, but the child refused to write in anything but print. Now truthfully, print or cursive, work is work. Typically in grade school though, penmanship is something that is worked on and therefore was part of my regular curriculum. I never saw this child write in cursive until mid year. I actually didn't think he knew how given how resistant he was toward it. Sadly, he wrote in print because his mother couldn't write in cursive. The child's print was horrendous and yet his cursive was immaculate! By mid year, I did have him writing beautiful cursive and feeling ~great~ about it. But like so many things in life, balance is always there. The good of his cursive brought about balancing bad-- misfortune at home.

In addition to attending conferences and maintaining the house and making the children's lunches and so on and so forth, the mother of this boy was also expected to make sure the children's grades were passing. Both children struggled tremendously, and this often led the mother to do the children's work for them. Unfortunately, not only could the mother not write in cursive, but she herself had trouble obtaining passing grades for her son and daughter. When the children didn't perform well, to the point of it affecting baseball plans ie having to stay after school to redo assignments, tutoring, etc., the father would become irate.

The irate head of the house, soaked and saturated with intoxication, would hollar at the school, belittle the teachers, yell at his children, beat his wife (after all she deserved it for not making the children's grades better, right?[intense sarcasm]),...he even keyed the principal's car.

As an educator, you do what you can to protect and help the children you teach that are in situations such as this. And quite often there is little you can do beyond listening to the children when they come to you and providing a shoulder for them to lean on. It's truly disheartening.

News came to me today about this family. Some years have passed, and I've not kept up with their details. The father passed away last week. Liver and Kidney failure. He drank like a sieve, so it really didn't surprise me. But news such as this does leave me wondering with a sense of sadness. What does the family feel? While this man was such a tyrant, he was still a father...a husband. Do the children and the mother feel a sense of relief? Do they mourn with deep sorrow? Does the wife wake up each morning now and think she's free from the mental and physical abuse she's been enduring? Does she wake up looking at the empty side of the bed where her husband used to sleep and weep for him? Do the children feel a sense of burden off their shoulders--no longer do they need to feel the need to protect their mother or worry that they will be hit or that their father will come home drunk yet again? Do they feel sad sitting at the dinner table with one less place setting? I wonder.

Why Thank You - I Don't Think So

Tonight was a great night for a walk. The sun was setting and the air was crisp and clean but not too chilly. Upon turning the last corner back toward our home, the local pub dazzled our noses with the smell of grilled burgers and tempted our tongues with thoughts of bottled libations. We decided to ditch our dinner plans at home and head to the pub after a quick freshen up of the baby at the house and grabbing an extra layer or two of warmth to mask us against the chill of the set sun.

Our dinner arrives and of course our daughter decides that us giving attention to our food is far less important than her being held and bounced and walked so that she can peer at the other tables and grab as much eye contact as she can with random pub goers. Little was going to come between myself and my much wanted burger and beer, so my less-hungry-half held the baby while I became fixated on my food.

From behind, a nice gentleman approaches us, "Hello there! Let me do my good deed for the day and hold your baby for you while you eat..."

~
... "Why that would be wonderful!" My husband and I enjoy our burgers and beers and fries and conversation-while this stranger holds our only child and proceeds to run with her, screaming at the top of his lungs that he's going to kidnap her and toss her into his dungeon of stolen children where they are left to reach near rotten and then chop her up into bits so we can read about her on the Five O'Clock News and have it affect all our future children's lives and leave us in a perpetual state of misery and mourning...
~

Oh wait...my mind does wander.

... "That is sweet of you to offer, but no thank you."
... "Are you sure?"
... "Yes, we're sure, but thank you."

I am sure the man was being sincere, but like I'd EVER give my daughter to some strange man in a bar. There's no burger good enough in the world to make me do that.

Where's the Baby?

She's got so much space--why does she insist on being under her swing and crammed against the wall with her toys?

The World Needs More Whiskers

Why is it that we, on the average, look at a dog and feel the need to scratch behind its ears and pet it?

"Scuse me, can I pet your dog?"

And if you have the joy of owning your own, you go for walks, to the park, around the neighborhood--wherever--so you can share him/her with those that ask you,

"Scuse me, can I pet your dog?"

...and it almost always results in a smile.

Children giggle at the gentle return of prickly whiskers and a slimey tongue when they give animals attention.

So I wonder, why in a world where people rarely take the time to stop and really talk with each other about genuine thoughts and feelings, will people take the time to stop and pet a breathing, walking, slobbery, whisker-filled, tongue-wagging dog?

Brisk and Beautiful.

Brrr!

The weather has taken a change this week and it's been considerably colder outside from how it's been normally lately. I love this weather. Today felt like it was October. You know, perfect weather for tossing on jeans and a sweater or sweatshirt.

The sun didn't shine much, but that's okay with me. Days like today make me feel rejuvenated. I'm not sure why since it makes most people feel depressed--maybe from being born in the Pacific Northwest. I must have spent a good two hours out walking today. Not many people share the way I feel it seems, or at least not many like walking in weather like this. I pretty much had the streets to myself.

I used to go into work in the mornings and talk to a dear friend on days such as this one, explaining how I got ready for work by candle light. I'd pretend that I was living up in the mountains and didn't have electricity. I'd imagine I was in a little stone cottage out in the forest with gorgeous mountain surrounding me. Which would end as soon as I stepped out my back door into the flat flatness of Chicago and enter hellish traffic. It was a nice relaxing way to get ready for work at any rate.

Its refreshing to take part in such activities every now and again, even if they are silly.

I finished the day with a walk in this fall weather as the night's sky blanketed over me with a hot, absolutely scrumptious, mocha in hand. Mmmm.

Which side did you fall into?

Left or right?

I'm really wondering what the purpose of being left handed or right handed is. Why is it that we're born ambidextrous and then pick a side? Why do we end up favoring one side over the other? Why aren't we ambidextrous our whole life? And since we're not, there must be a good reason for us picking a dominant side? Right? I wonder why.

And curses to my mom who taught me how to iron as a leftie when I'm a rightie. I'll forever iron backwards.

A Faded Sparkle

Up the street from me is a retirement home. I've never actually ventured inside it, no real need to, but I do walk past it every day--often three times a day. I've become accustomed to the faces I see sitting out on the patio . I wave and smile with a friendly greeting as I go on my way. Most the time nothing more than a quiet wave or nod of the head is returned. That is unless one of the lesser stable minded ladies is out and about walking in 90 degree weather in her black knee highs. Then I usually get some sort of verbal recognition beyond understanding in the English tongue--nevertheless, it's nice because it's more than the norm.

Sometimes when I'm out walking, I notice an ambulance parked out front of the retirement home. Now, although I've never seen the paramedics transporting anyone out of the home, and I can't say I've even ever heard anyone in a panicked mindset, or anyone at all but the lone parked ambulance, it always makes me feel a bit saddened inside. It does bring a sense of mortality to your thoughts.

When I say saddened I don't mean for the impending loss of my own life ...but I think about the news that the families will receive about the loss of their loved one. That that day will forever be marked and life is changed for that family. Date X won't be just date X any more, but rather...The day that [insert family member's name] passed away. And each year that that date passes, will surface, even if briefly, a moment of remembrance and heartache.

So what goes through the minds of the lovely people that reside in this home up the street? What do they think about when that ambulance pulls up? And how do people feel when the nice gentleman or lady that had the corner room on the third floor is no longer needing it because he/she left on an ambulance trip? Do they still talk at dinner when the person doesn't return? or do they sit in silence? And do the managers/landlords/staff (whatever they are called at this home)...do the {caretakers} offer any condolences? Do the residents want that? or would they rather just not think on it? From the outside looking in, I think a situation such at that would be so difficult.

What really gets to me though, is when I pass the front entrance of the home and walk down the side, past the dining room, and past the room with the neat bird feeder outside the window, and past one of the few rooms that has a window air conditioning unit which must be so nice to have on a hot day and I bet that their room is just packed with as many friends and so-called friends as possible just so they all can cool off because it's unbearable outside....When I pass all of that, I look down a narrow driveway to the back corner of the home and it's always a sad goodbye to those that have departed, for I'll see a recliner that's no longer needed...a mattress...a dresser...a chair...a mirror--just left out by the dumpster because someone's time has come to an end and they've moved on.

Computer Mayhem

Why do computers hate me so, when all I do is love them?

It's truly amazing just how much bad luck I can have when it comes to computers. Within just this last year and a half, I've had two sets of 512MB of RAM go bad, a motherboard die, a power supply croak, and an ethernet card die (and I'm sure a multitude of other misfortunes with the damned boxes which my mind has erased from memory just to preserve enough of itself so I can function on a daily basis). I've become quite proficient when it comes to kicking, screaming at, punching, and swearing at computer cases. Although time and time again, it doesn't help anything by taking such actions, it does somehow make me feel a heck of a lot better. I'm sure you're with me on this...venting helps..it does.

But! Tonight, after replacing my new motherboard...with a newer motherboard...I'm back online again and rearin' to go!

A New Start

Back at it again.

My blog.

Just kicking this off as it is late and I don't have enough energy to continue blinking much less make a long blog entry--tomorrow is another day.

Welcome to those of you who have ventured here and taken the time to ponder my babble.

Much more babble and yammering to come.